


Table Setting

by HobbitKitten



Series: Tell Me Everything [4]
Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: M/M, improper use of olive oil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:11:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3101318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HobbitKitten/pseuds/HobbitKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean serves up a nice dish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Table Setting

I always had Aidan pegged as straight. Which is why I was bracing myself for a good smack, or a shove, at the very least, when I got him drunk (ish) and kissed him.  But I'm not one for regrets and I'd regret not having just a tiny little taste. I mean.  _Look_  at him! So I was really surprised when he just sort of... melted... into me.  Could be he was drunker than I thought.  But, you know, oh well! I needed to see how far I could push it. I moved my hand up to twist firmly in his hair and looped an arm around his waist.  I pulled him even closer and he didn't resist. He let me pull him flush against me, warm and relaxed, his arms on either side of me, leaning against the kitchen counter behind me. I sucked at his tongue and deepened the kiss. I reached down and gave his arse a nice firm squeeze. And still he didn't push away. Instead, he made this beautiful, soft, gasping moan into my mouth and I just absolutely had to have him. Immediately.  My bedroom was clear upstairs and that was just not gonna be acceptable.  

However. Jackson's a man of impeccable taste and had rented us all wonderfully decorated little places for the duration of shooting.  For example, my kitchen has a fair sized, sturdy, oak dining table. I rarely eat at it, but I certainly made good use of it that night.  I deftly maneuvered us the few steps between my kitchen counter and the dining table.  He still hadn't said a word of protest, and if he was gonna, this was his chance.  I broke our kiss, sucked my way down his neck, and started working on his belt buckle.  He surprised me again by pulling his T-shirt off over his head and, as I shoved his trousers downward, slid back to sit his newly bared arse on the table behind him.  He reads minds, apparently.

What a sight that was. Naked Aidan Turner, sitting on my dining table, leaning back with his arms behind him, supporting him, sharp eyes watching me expectantly.  I moved in and kissed him hard, running my fingers over his well muscled chest.  Suddenly I was acutely aware that I hadn't shed a stitch of clothing.  Which, come to think of it, was probably a good thing. Kept my paper thin restraint in check a bit.  I grabbed hold of his knees and pulled him to the very edge of the table.  Then slowly let my hands meander upwards, exploring.  I pulled back to study every inch of his skin as I ran my fingers over him. I do have a certain appreciation for fine art, after all. I swirled my fingertips, ever so lightly, across his stomach and his muscles twitched a bit.  Ticklish? That could definitely be fun.  But for the moment, I flattened my hands and used a firmer pressure.  I moved my gaze, and my hands upwards, across his chest. Thin, but not as scrawny as you might think, if you hadn't seen him naked. Firm chest, generous smattering of dark hair. I raked my fingers through it a few times. My touch was becoming anything but light.  He was taking quiet, fast, shuddering breaths.  Somehow that made it easier to calm my own breathing. I kept one hand on his chest, and slowly moved the other up to his throat, my touch firm enough to make clear who was in charge, but nowhere near bruising. He could have pulled away. If he wanted to. I could feel his pulse. Racing. Finally my hand came to rest at his jaw, thumb tracing his lips. His breath was hot, lips slightly parted. Waiting. I leaned forward to suck his bottom lip into my mouth, hand pressed to the back of his curly, curly skull. His biceps started to quiver with the effort of holding himself up. He moaned. Good Christ, that sound. I was verging on desperate. 

I began to wish I'd walked him to the bedroom. But it's so, so far away from the blasted kitchen. 'Course, then, it does have lube in the night stand. But soooooo far away! Too late now. I was not about to walk away from that particular table setting.  And, I mean, I  _do_ carry a condom, because, well, who doesn't? But....

Casting my eyes around I noticed my bottle of olive oil still on the counter, where I'd made lunch. And within arms reach. Not ideal. But. Nearby. I grabbed for it and Aidan quirked an eyebrow at me. But he didn't say anything. Wise choice, Turner.

I dumped a bit too much on my fingers and set to work.  It was too much for him.  The feel of me pushing the first digit slowly inside, and he let his arms give out, thumped backward, flat on his back. I vaguely remember hoping that he didn't smack his head, but he seemed not to care even if he had.  He pulled one leg up, bent at the knee, to prop his heel on the table's edge, giving me better access.  Leaning forward, I kissed the inside of his knee as I added another finger.  He keened and tried to buck his hips, but couldn't get the leverage. And the look of him - panting, biting his lip. And. Just. Obscenely hard. Fantastic.

So. I guess, not as straight as I'd assumed. And very... pliant. Definitely a bonus. I don't think I would have been capable of the patience it would have taken to prep a blushing virgin, just then.  However, on the off chance, when I reached the point where I was just  _sure_ he was ready, panting, moaning with every twist of my fingers, I forced myself to spend just a couple more excruciating minutes stretching him. I spread my fingers, or twisted them, pushed them as deep as I could. I paid close attention to which movements made his breath catch, to what made him bite his lower lip and curse softly under his breath.  Finally, when his hands were shaking, scraping in vain for some purchase on the smooth table top, when his face had flushed a gorgeous shade of red, when his chest heaved with the effort of every breath and his cock leaked for me, I pulled away.  But only long enough to grab a condom from my wallet, undo my belt and zipper, and shove my trousers vaguely downwards.  I really couldn't be bothered to do a proper job of stripping at a moment like that.  

A little more oil for good measure, and I moved forward.  I planted one hand on the table to his left, forcing him to hook his knee across my elbow. With the other hand, I guided my aching erection closer to him and, not as slowly as I should've, I pushed inside.  He cried out, but not in pain, not really.  He pulled his other leg up to curl around my waist, making sure I din't pull too far away. To make sure I din't stop. Not that could have.

I got both hands planted on the table then, and set to work at a rapid pace.  I have to say, I'm impressed with his flexibility.  The leg hooked around my arm was pressed nearly flush to his chest.  He grabbed hold of my bicep with one hand, and yeah, it was totally going to bruise. But I couldn't care less.  The other hand finally found the edge of the table, and he stopped himself from sliding away from me as my thrusts became harder and more erratic.  

It really is more than any human can reasonably withstand.  Aidan Turner, sprawled naked, moaning, getting fucked hard - and absolutely loving it. And when you're the one buried in him up to your balls? Yeah, I didn't last as long as I would have liked. Who could have!

And furthermore, I would like us all to just take a moment to be impressed that the intensity of that orgasm didn't knock my knees out from under me.

As my head stopped spinning and I struggled to catch a breath, I happened to notice that poor Aid was still begging to get off.  Well, not literally. You couldn't call the sounds he was making proper words, but his point was clear.  With a truly heroic effort I reached between us and, finally, took hold of his unbelievably beautiful cock.  Fortunately for both of us, it only took a few quick, firm strokes before he shuddered, gave a strangled cry, and I felt his warm come dripping down my hand and soaking in to the sweat drenched t-shirt I'd forgotten I still had on.

The next clear memory I have of that night is sitting with my eyes closed, my back and head resting against a strong, oak, table leg, and hearing a heavy but contented sigh from above me. I heard the table groan a bit and felt it shift an inch or so as Aidan presumably vacated it. I heard the disappointing sound of denim being rustled and a zipper being done up. I only cracked my eyes open when I felt him kneel down in front of me.  I was met with twinkling eyes and a soft smile.  He studied my face for a minute, then leaned forward and pressed a soft, sweet kiss to my lips.  Barely breaking contact, I could still feel his lips ghosting on mine as they moved, he said,

"You make a good argument, but I really  _do_ have go."

That night was months ago. And I didn't really realize until now, but that's the first thing he'd said since we stumbled out of the pub and headed towards my place for "one last nightcap. Just one."

\-- 

Funny the things that spring to mind at times like this. I stuff my hands deeper in my pockets, walk a bit faster, and force myself not to look behind me. Toward Aid's place. Which contains one clearly distraught friend/fuck-buddy/lover/whatever-the-hell Aidan is right now. Who I've just walked out on.

This sucks.

**Author's Note:**

> See? As I said in the series summary/description, a plot is trying to sneak in to what is just supposed to be lovely porn.
> 
> As always, this is all made up, all mistakes are mine, and comments/constructive criticisms are welcome.


End file.
